Free Mariel by Jo Ann Ferguson Page B

Mariel, if I had known you wanted it today, I wouldn’t have—”
    â€œNonsense,” she stated with too much enthusiasm. Walter must learn Foxbridge Cloister was not a place where reprimands were dealt out on the slightest whim. Mariel loved her home and wanted the others who lived here to be as happy. “You know what the automobile needs and when it needs it. I must defer to your judgment. It’s no problem to take the buggy.” She grinned playfully. “Have fun with all your chains and whatever.”
    He nodded as she went out the door. Walking to the wide opening, he continued to wipe his hands over and over while he watched her crossing the courtyard. She paused to chat with one of the other workers. The light sound of her always-charming laughter drifted on the spring breeze. Turning back to his chore, he tried not to think of the dark times the sound recalled. He wanted only to think of his task here at Foxbridge Cloister.
    Mariel sang to the tempo of the horse’s hoofbeats on the hard road. When she missed one note badly, she grimaced and was glad no one else had heard her. Music was her secret joy, but she shared it with no others. Once it had been different, but that was long ago. Occasionally she would play the pianoforte for Uncle Wilford when he was home, but since he left, nearly a year ago, she had had no interest in touching the spinet in the drawing room.
    The hills became softer and more frequent as she drove inland. Only near the cliffs were the ridges uncompromising. These mounds wore their spring brown of overturned earth ripe for planting. Stone walls wound uneven paths to the horizon. Everything smelled of the fresh rebirth of spring.
    Raising her hand high to match the crescendo of the note she sang, she smiled. This was her favorite time of year. With the promise of summer yet to come bringing its many activities, and the bane of the cold weather banished for many months, she could revel in the wealth of color returning to the fields.
    She slowed the carriage as she drew even with a wall higher than the ones dividing the farm plots. She paused at the gate as she waited for it to be opened. A plaque riveted to the stones did not draw her eyes. She had seen the words too often. She knew “The Ladies’ Aid Society of Foxbridge Orphanage” was banished far from the village so as not to bother the others of the shire. Few wanted to remember the parentless children living in the compound.
    â€œGood afternoon,” she called gaily to the gatekeeper. Like most working at the orphanage, he had been raised here.
    He waved to her before reclosing the gate. Once some of the children had run away. Since then, the iron bars had to be secured each time someone entered or left. That precaution troubled her. She could not imagine being caged for any reason.
    Mariel stopped the carriage before a huge house, which needed painting. On its ornate scrollwork on the porch, and along the eaves, hung tatters of loose paint. Empty windows on the upper levels contrasted with the ones on the ground floor. There the glass was decorated with many examples of childish artwork. Spring flowers made of colored paper marched in a row along the windows overlooking the broad veranda.
    Knocking on the door, she waited for the familiar sound of sharp heels striking the floor. Before the door opened, small arms wrapped around her waist. She laughed as she turned in the embrace and patted unruly blond hair.
    â€œHello, Rosie,” Mariel said happily. “I thought you would be taking a nap now.”
    The child grinned, showing the gap-toothed smile of a five-year-old. “Snuck away, I did. Nurse’s busy cleaning up the mess Donny made. He ate too much. I thought I’d see if you were calling today.”
    Mariel knelt to bring her eyes even with the petite child’s. Rosie was a beautiful child, growing lank out of her toddler form. Like many of the orphans here, she had